


What Grows

by fresne



Category: Joan of Arcadia
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-26
Updated: 2008-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:06:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things grow together. Some things grow apart. Set post the S2 Finale, as Homecoming once more draws the season round.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Grows

**Author's Note:**

> The following inspiration for this work and inspiration for my dialogue, where I am not directly quoting, because apt quotes are cool:
> 
> Not sure I remember, but if I quoted and didn't attribute, let me know and I'll fix it.

# What Grows

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a set of bleachers between Nowhere and Whatever where the smokers met. Each Spring, clumps of crocuses and tulips would pop out of the mud and the sitting slackers would go like, "Woah." In the fall and winter, they discarded Big Gulps and forgot. But still, under the mud, the bulbs remembered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

### Joan

This year, they were Seniors and this was her last year and not Adam and not God and not Ryan Evil Hunter were going to ruin it for her.

Anyway, avoiding Adam wasn't the reason Joan dashed out of English like a woman on a mission.

She was on a mission. She only had ten minutes between fifth and sixth period, and Price had some sort of tardy bug going, and what with Ryan lurking around being Mr. Evil-School-Board-making-trash-blow-blah-blah-chaos, she couldn't afford any tardies. It was the least she could do for God.

She shot down the hallway to the 2nd floor girl's bathroom. There was a yellow plastic sign on the door that said it was closed for repairs. She heard Adam calling out behind her, but there was no time.

Joan sprinted down the stairs, whispering, "Please, God," under her breath, which never worked. Blah, blah, free will, self help, blah, blah, blah. A long line stretched out the 1st floor girl's bathroom and past the sport's trophies. Joan took her place at the end of the line, jiggled one foot, looked at her watch, and tried to decide if this was worth another tardy.

But another tardy would mean Ryan would win, she was sure of it, so she rolled her eyes and sighed and then ran back up the stairs, because, of course, her next class was on the 2nd floor. Clearly God wanted her to exercise or something.

She barreled round the corner and straight into a tall preppy girl holding some flyers. Joan, the girl and the flyers went everywhere.

"Oh, God! I'm so sorry," said Joan. She picked at fallen papers currently being trampled by the uncaring masses' feet on a mission to crush her fingers.

"That's alright, Joan," said the girl with the whitest, friendliest smile ever.

"Oh. It's you!" She stopped picking up papers. God could pick up her own papers. Unless that was what would cause Mr. Evil to tip the balance into chaos or something. She went back to picking up flyers. Just in case.

Joan looked at the pink and blue and green papers. They read, "Welcome Back - Homecoming Dance" and there were times and drawings of smiling balloons. Balloons should not smile. It was a law or something. Joan said, "No one goes to the actual dance you know."

Then God, who even had perky hair, said, "I want you to volunteer to decorate for the dance."

Joan waved her arms in the air. "Oh, excuse me, what kind of compassionate God are you?" She glanced right and left, but the hall was clearing of students. Whispered just in case, "Way to dig up personal life tragedy. Unless, this has something to do with Kevin." She looked at her watch. She still had a few minutes. "Does this have something to do with Kevin? Do I need to get him to the dance or," she paused as the most appalling of all appalling thoughts occurring to her, "I don't have to get him to dance or something. It's not that he's in a wheelchair, but," she glanced around again, some more, "he's my brother and that's just eww."

"This has nothing to do with Kevin. Except in the way that everything has to do with everyone." God smiled in a really annoyingly sparkly sort of way. "Robert Frost said, 'Home is where, when you have to go there, they have take you in.'"

"Oh, please, this is not my home." Joan rolled her eyes. "Wait, is this about Luke? I totally remembered his birthday. I got his present and everything weeks ago, which you knew because you're all knowing and everything, so what's this about?"

God handed her the rest of the papers. "It's about returning home. Life is about journeys, and you're getting ready to leave one phase of your life and begin another. To literally shift your home on its axis. It's important that you acknowledge that."

"What! I'm not going to go on a long trip." Joan looked at God suspiciously. That would just be like God to make her go on a long trip somewhere lame.

God flipped her shiny perfect hair back over one shoulder. "Also, Homecoming helps build community spirit. I'm all about spirit." God walked away down the hallway and gave that stupid little wave God always did.

Joan called after her, "And what about Ryan? You know the moment I volunteer, he'll do something to screw it up." Joan smoothed the papers in her hands. "This is going to suck." Then the bell rang. Of course, the bell rang. Stupid bell. She went to class, thinking that the least God could have done was stop time so she wouldn't be late.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lars still hadn't told his parents. He'd just gone to a college as far away from Arcadia as possible. Sort of half in, half out. Part of him cramped inside a too small locker. No air. No room. Afraid to move in case someone found out he was in there. Part of him standing on the quad on a sunlit afternoon with his boyfriend and all the space in the world. As long as he was on campus, or in certain clubs, or half in, half out. He hadn't even really come out to anyone in his dorm. Just sort of didn't say anything. He had three more years of college. Maybe next year.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

### Luke

"Do you know what she's doing now?" Grace sharply clicked the Biology closet door closed behind her.

Luke put away his waiting for Grace Trig homework. "By she, if you mean Joan, then my answer is no. I never know what she's doing now. The entirety of Unified Field theory would not be enough to track Joan's movements."

"That's it, try and talk science at me," said Grace. She was not kissing him. This was not good. They could talk about Joan in a hallway. Preferably, they wouldn't discuss Joan at all. Grace crossed her arms and glared at him. "She's volunteering to do stuff for Homecoming. She's in charge of decorating the dance."

Luke tried to focus away from the way crossing her arms squished her chest together and pay attention to the main issue. He said, "Okay," as this seemed the safest answer.

It was not.

"No, it's not okay. Homecoming is just another example this school's fascist prostration at the alter of sports." Grace kicked at the concrete floor. "And then they expect us to go dance about it."

Luke was drifting badly in the conversation. Trig was much easier to understand. Simple. Straight forward. Trig didn't make his heart skip a beat every time he saw it. Well, okay, maybe just a little, but not as much as Grace. He said the first thing that came to mind, "Fascists worshiped sports?"

This was the wrong thing to say. Grace glared up at him and took those last tiny steps into his personal space. She growled, "Yes. That's why they were always building stadiums." Then she kissed him. Angry Grace lips on his own and he wasn't lost anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A white moth spazed against the stairwell window as it tried to get at the street light outside. Only place in the shelter where there were lights after dark. Casper grinned as she watched it bang round like a crazy thing. It was there every night while she studied. She stretched and got back to it. Nobody was going to just give her G.E.D.s. But the Moth was on her side, so that was alright.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

###  Adam 

"And she kept muttering about streamers. Streamers." Grace shook her head. "It's way too early in the year for her to go all spastic."

"I guess." Adam really wasn't quite sure why they were going to the gym. He didn't really have time to help Jane. He was supposed to work this afternoon. Sometimes it felt like every free moment this summer had been spent at the newspaper. He was earning money, and that was good, but he was tired.

For some reason, Grace was talking about Joan and Mussolini, which meant that she'd actually been paying attention in History this week, which also meant that he'd been paying attention and then somehow they were at the gym.

Jane barreled toward them, "Oh, thank God you're here. I mean not literally. Well, maybe literally, but anyway, here," Jane handed him a paint brush. It felt comfortable in his hand. "We need to make signs. I've already got Friedman on it, but," she lowered her voice, "he kind of sucks at this." Adam looked at where Friedman was talking to several fresh faced girls, who were trying to avoid his waving paint brush.

"Dude, your decorations kind of suck." Grace waved at a glittery thing on the far wall. "What's that supposed to be?"

Jane's face scrunched up and she said, "It's our mascot. Don't ask. I realize that it looks more like a..." she stared at it, "I don't know what it looks like."

Jane stared at him again. He felt like he needed to say something, so he said, "They're really ugly, yo."

Jane looked at him with wide blinking eyes. "Come on, how about using that artistic ability to make it all more homey. Because, home is the place that going there, they have to let you go, or something. I didn't quite follow."

The brush in his hand and Joan staring at him, horrible glitter all over the room, work felt far away. He could smell the paint on the brush. A drop had trickled over his hand.

He smiled. It'd been months since he'd had time to paint. He could always call in sick.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"The First Prize goes to Scott Brooks," it was his moment, so he stood and walked the infinite steps the front of the Hall. There were folding chairs for five hundred. There were only fifteen people there. He was glad there were only fifteen. Outside, he could hear the loud speakers for the rest of the County Fair, but inside there was only this fifteen and a man handing him a trophy for the 1st place fiction entry. It wasn't the Pulitzer or anything. Just a trophy at a county fair. But after he stuttered, "Tha...tha...Thaaaa, Thankyou." and went back to his seat, his father whispered, "I'm proud of you, son." Then it kinda sorta was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

### Kevin

He had a right to brood. Today was his own personal little parapalegization anniversary. Not the sort of thing he could have mom make a cake for. Not the sort of thing he really should want to see anyone for.

He'd taken the day off work, and he'd set himself in a coffee bar to sit and brood.

One problem with this plan. He'd gone to Lily's place of caffeine addiction.

She said, "Hey," in that gravel six pack of cigs voice and sat down across from him.

"Go away, I'm brooding," but he was grinning as he said it, and Lily would have ignored him anyway even if he actually had been brooding.

She reached across the table and picked up his coffee cup, gave it a healthy gulp and grimaced at the taste. She said, "What have I told you about getting the syrupy coffee."

"What have I told you about stealing my coffee?" He took his own coffee back and smiled at its vanilla syrup goodness.

Lily sort of laugh barked and sprawled in her chair. "You're lucky I didn't drink the whole thing. I haven't gotten my coffee fix yet today." She glanced back at the barista at the counter. Looked back at Kevin. "So, I suppose this is where the girlfriend is supposed to ask why you're brooding. Except your mother already called me to warn me that today was the anniversary of the big W-day."

"W-day?" He fiddled with his coffee stirrer, so it could "accidentally" flip at her across the table.

"Uh," she caught the stirrer, "You know, wheelchair. Apparently, you go off to brood today." She looked him over. "You look like you're failing miserably. Don't you know that you're supposed to drink your coffee straight black when you brood."

He wiggled his eyebrows. "I like vanilla." Then out of pretty much out of nowhere he asked, "Want to go to a Homecoming dance?"

Lily leaned back in her chair. "Aren't you a little old for Homecoming?"

He shrugged. "Joan's going or something, and Mom's stuck being one of the chaperones with the other teachers. I didn't go to any of mine; I went to parties. Then there was the last party. Maybe if I go, mom'll be off the hook and really," he waved down at his chair, "can you think of a better incentive not to let friends drive drunk?"

Lily came around the table and perched on the arm of his wheelchair. She took another drink of his coffee. There was a long pause, while he got to soak in the warmth of her thigh against his arm. Then she said, "I think I could get to like vanilla."

He looked up at her, heart banging against the inside of his ribs. "Is that a yes?"

Lily leaned forward. Her hair fell forward against his face. He could smell sweat and sleep on her skin. She said, "Yeah, why not. Not like I went the last time around either." Then the barista called out and she jumped to get her caffeine. Lily had her priorities.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today was the battle of Thermopylae. He'd played a few scenes from the 300 for the class, and then divided the room into Spartans and Persians. The desks made for the cliffs, and he handed out cardboard shields. Tiny ones. The students were yelling Laconic sayings, and raining Nerf arrows. Every eye was alive to the story of history. Paul Dreisbach was having the time of his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

### Ryan

God was in the park playing chess with himself. How obviously symbolic.

Ryan sat down across from him. "You know that chess is really a very simple game. In comparison." He picked up the white Queen and put it in his pocket. He could be obviously symbolic too.

God smiled at the board and said, "Since I appear to you in the way that you need to see me, the question you should ask yourself is why do you see me playing chess so often."

"That was a lot more original the first thirty times you said it." Ryan looked around the park at the people walking blithely by. Sheep. Leading their little lives of quiet desperation. Hmm perhaps that made Joan the Bellwether then. He liked that. Joan the Bellwether sheep. He wondered how her little dance would go when all the other sheep were depressed over losing their little football game.

God pulled a washer out of his pocket and put it where the white Queen once stood. "Do you really think sabotaging a high school football game is what Thoreau had in mind as a way of expressing the song within you?"

Ryan ran his finger around the outside of the washer. The metal felt smooth and warm. "Clearly my song is pure punk."

God tilted his head to one side. "Thoreau might have said the same thing." God smiled. "You don't need to burn down churches to get my attention."

Ryan stood up. "I just like doing it." He walked away, feeling good. He liked to be the one that walked away. Then he gave that little wave God always did, and he didn't look back.

He wasn't going to look back.

He looked back.

God had gone back to playing his game. Ryan fingered the queen in his pocket and kept walking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
Dylan liked cheese cake. She liked the creamy sharp sweet taste of it. It had more calories than were good for her. She'd probably gain a million pounds eating it. But she didn't care. She liked it, so that was what she was going to eat when she felt like it. Which was now. Swirling it around in raspberry sauce and talking a bite because she wanted to. It tasted good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

### Joan

She didn't know what else to say, so she said, "Adam, your posters are amazing," for the millionth time. Which they were, but he probably didn't need to hear it a million times.

Adam grunted and Lily grunted and Kevin rolled his eyes. Basically, the words fell into the rumble of the dance like a lead balloon. Although, she had no idea why anyone would want a lead balloon. Any more than anyone wanted a real balloon apparently. They'd all been popped by the few people who'd showed up.

She'd "told" God that no one showed up at these things, and sure enough, all the popular people were off kegging their sorrows over the zillion to zero defeat today.

Which left the dance to the defectives. If there was dancing. The person who'd been supposed to setup the sound system hadn't bothered to show. Which left the music to a boom box and the CDs in Lily's car. They were all surf punk or something.

At least the Goth's were enjoying it. They looked like they were screwing in imaginary light bulbs under the mutant glitter eagle. God was with them, in full plaid black and white kilt glory, which made sense. God the preppy would never have fit in here. The Slackers clustered around the food table, and there was no way Joan was going to have any of that punch. The Drama geeks bled into the Art crowd gawking at Adam's posters like it was some sort of an art show thing, and then there were the Geek-geeks doing some weird science thing with a streamer. Well, she thought it was a science thing. Grace was over there waving her arms around at Luke, and Glynis was standing on one foot, so maybe not. Then Friedman started running around the gym, which was a bit too much like gym, but whatever, yelling, "We lost. Woo hoo!" He skidded to a halt in front of them. "Isn't it great. We lost!" He danced in a little circle like the crazy defective that he was.

Kevin laughed. "You do realize that you're not actually supposed to be happy about that."

"Are you kidding! If they'd won, it would just be another round of the jocks going on about how great they are." Friedman did his little jig again. "Now it's just a foretaste of the failure they'll know once high school is over and the Geeks inherit the 6 figure salaries." He smiled to himself. "Their time of reckoning is at hand."

"Hey," said Joan, more for Kevin than for any sort of jock love.

But Kevin laughed. "Hey, yourself, Joan." He rocked his wheelchair back and forth. "I'm all gimp now. No jocks here."

"Speak for yourself," said Lily, in what Joan guessed were her good t-shirt and dungarees. "Come-on, let's go chaperone the food."

Which left just Joan and Adam standing there looking at the gym. Not exactly, crowded, but buzzing as Slackers drifted into Geeks, talking to Art.

The tinny sounding song changed from someone screaming to something more Ska. Adam said, "Any idea how you dance to this?"

It was the dance of the defectives, so there should be dancing. She tugged Adam toward the boom box to join the Goths and God in their dance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In a galaxy far, far away is all very relative. To that galaxy, it was not far away or even long, long ago. As that galaxy's rim slid into the disk of another galaxy and their systems merged, some stars whooshed and died. Others bloomed into new orbits. Where they'd end up, really no one could say. Well, someone could have, but they weren't saying. It was a free will thing.

**Author's Note:**

> If after reading my fiction here, you would like to read more about me and my writing check out my profile.


End file.
